


unrequited

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drinking, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Partying, Rape/Non-con Elements, dub-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2018-12-12 07:12:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11732118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: This is supposed to be one of their last nights together--as the two Shimadas and the American, the trio with the tales of conquests and unlawfulness made nigh-infamous around their college campus--and Genji can’t think of a single way the party could be made any better.Well...maybe one.“Comeon, Hanzo,” Genji whines, draping himself over the tabletop where his older brother has chosen to sulk for the night. He doesn’t mind the stickiness of a spilled cocktail that makes the bare skin of his torso cling to the table’s surface--a result of Genji trying to slide himself across the table“just like the movies do”, and in his opinion the display was absolutely cool enough to justify the casualty of the overpriced, fruity drink. “Everyone’s having fun, and you’re just sitting here. Don’t you want to live a little?”





	1. Chapter 1

This is supposed to be one of their last nights together--as the two Shimadas and the American, the trio with the tales of conquests and unlawfulness made nigh-infamous around their college campus--and Genji can’t think of a single way the party could be made any better.

Well...maybe one.

“Come _on_ , Hanzo,” Genji whines, draping himself over the tabletop where his older brother has chosen to sulk for the night. He doesn’t mind the stickiness of a spilled cocktail that makes the bare skin of his torso cling to the table’s surface--a result of Genji trying to slide himself across the table _“just like the movies do”_ , and in his opinion the display was absolutely cool enough to justify the casualty of the overpriced, fruity drink. “Everyone’s having fun, and you’re just sitting here. Don’t you want to live a little?”

Hanzo looks up at Genji flatly, setting down his half-full glass of gin and tonic. “It was your idea to come here. This was not my first choice on how to spend an evening.”

“You’re such a stick in the mud.” Genji rolls his eyes, pushing himself up off the tabletop before he gestures over to one of the club’s more secluded corners, where a cowboy hat sits, oddly out of place, in the middle of a table full of giggling schoolgirls. “Look, even Jesse is out getting some. You’re the only one not trying to enjoy yourself!”

“I shouldn’t have to try to enjoy myself,” Hanzo snaps, sitting back against the booth and pulling out his phone. “I’m here to make sure that Jesse doesn’t pick a fight and you don’t uproot our entire family tree.”

Before Genji can retort, there’s a shout of his name from the dance floor, and both brothers look over to see Saitō waving his arm and beckoning Genji back over to his circle of peers--Hanzo hesitates to call them friends. 

Genji holds up a finger to Saitō in acknowledgement, then turns back to Hanzo, scowling. “Are you really just going to sit here all night--”

“I will enjoy myself however I please,” Hanzo says, sipping from his drink again as he scrolls through his phone; and just like that, the conversation is over. “Run along now, Genji. Your remora beckon.”

Genji huffs and turns away, quickly returning to his friends--and, determined to make the most of the night to make up for Hanzo’s sour attitude, he throws himself into the party with renewed vigor.

It’s not long before they dissolve into a shabby game of dares; and with Genji there, already four drinks in, it’s all but impossible to lose. The dares only escalate, as the night goes on--Genji finds himself downing three shots of bitter schnapps in five seconds, then tearing his tube top off and flinging it into the crowd, then grinding up on some perfect stranger with the goal of making him shoot in his pants in under two minutes.

It’s been a long night of drinking, grinding, and no-limits fun, and yet it’s only now--with Saitō’s grin lopsided and his words still ringing in the air--that Genji finds himself halting on the dance floor, grin frozen in place even as uneasiness makes his stomach flip.

“...I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can!” Saitō laughs, flinging his arm over Genji’s shoulder and turning him away from the circle of clubgoers, making him face the booths that line the wall of the club--and more importantly, the booth where Hanzo sits, his mouth downturned as he idly traces a fingertip around the rim of his glass. “You’ve not said no to anything all night, and you’re going to let this trip you up? That’s not the Genji I know.”

“Yeah!” Watanabe chimes in, popping up at Genji’s right side with a grin full of teeth, his lips stained red from all the cocktails he’s had. “The Genji I know isn’t afraid of anything--especially not his stuck-up older brother!”

“I’m not afraid--” Genji starts, indignant; and Nakamura’s big hand claps over his mouth, silencing him as he leans in closer.

“If you’re not afraid,” Nakamura whispers, his eyes burning and intense where they’re locked with Genji’s own hazy ones, bodies pressed close enough to feel how Genji’s heart races under his skin, “then you’ll do it, Shimada. If not, we have other friends to hang out with...friends that aren’t boring.” He pauses, just long enough to see the realization dawn on Genji’s face, to let him understand the subtle threat, before he asks again, “So, you’re going to do it, aren’t you?”

Genji hesitates--looks between Nakamura’s face and where Hanzo sits, still alone, an island refusing to move as the party storms around him--before he nods, slowly. Nakamura’s hand pulls away, and Genji takes a deep breath, nodding again.

“I’ll do it,” he says, grinning weakly at Watanabe and Takahashi’s slurred cheers in his ear and staggering under the weight of the hearty slaps Saitō gives his shoulder. He holds up a hand, trying to quiet them down.

“I’ll do it,” he repeats, licking his dry lips before he forces himself to smirk. “But before I do...I’m gonna need another drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hanzo has a headache.

Between the strobing lights that cover the walls in flashing, bright color and the loud, pounding beats of dance music with too much bass, the overpriced drink that’s too sweet for his taste but still sits in front of him with only the dregs clinging to half-melted ice cubes and the stink of perfumed sweat from a hundred writhing, dancing bodies nearby, he has to work hard to keep the nausea at bay.

This isn’t his idea of a good time--far from it. But Genji had wanted to go, McCree had insisted it could be fun; and now Hanzo sits alone at their table, sulking over his drink and fiddling with a napkin to keep the worst of the boredom at bay.

So when he sees Genji breaking away from his cluster of friends and heading over his way, a colorful cocktail held in his grip and a hazy grin on his face, Hanzo can’t help but get his hopes up. He finds himself wondering if Genji wants to talk, or--and he has to swallow down the sudden excitement that makes his heart race--if he perhaps wants to lead Hanzo out to the floor, sway and grind against him in what he calls a dance.

Hanzo sits up a little straighter and tries to keep his face impassive as Genji finally reaches the table, and raises a brow at his younger brother’s too-wide smile and his glassy eyes.

“Hey, Hanzo,” Genji says, leaning onto the table with one arm and cocking his hips; he tips the glass back to drain the rest of the fruity alcohol down his throat, then sets the cup on the table and leans in closer. “I’ve got something for you.”

And Hanzo wants to pull away--Genji reeks of booze and is clearly far too drunk to be thinking in any sort of clarity--but Genji’s so close and Genji’s so pretty with his makeup on, his glittery eyeshadow bringing out the flecks of gold in his eyes, his soft, cherry-pink lips parted and entirely too enticing for Hanzo to pull away. 

“What is it?” Hanzo asks, tearing his gaze away from the soft part of Genji’s lips to look up at his eyes, at the blown pupils ringed in grey and gold. “....Genji?”

His brother answers with a giggle that makes Hanzo’s belly churn with butterflies. “This.” 

And before Hanzo can protest, before Hanzo can do or say anything, he’s forced backward and has the sudden mass of Genji scrambling into his lap--his knees settling on the booth to bracket Hanzo in, his hands coming to rest on Hanzo’s broad shoulders and his grin, lopsided but happy, making his flushed cheeks dimple in the way Hanzo’s all but helpless against. 

“What--what are you--” Hanzo tries to speak, tries to question the attention, but has Genji’s finger falling on his lips to shush him, his grin only widening.

“Just sit back, anija,” he purrs, rolling his hips over Hanzo’s lap and arching his back, rubbing his fingers over the tense muscles in Hanzo’s shoulders and entirely oblivious to his brother’s mounting confusion, his horror. “How long has it been since you’ve had a good lap dance?”

Hanzo stares at Genji as he works, as his body rolls and grinds over Hanzo’s lap, and thinks it can’t be real. He thinks he’s dreaming, he thinks he’s dead, he thinks he should be pushing Genji away--and yet all he can do is stare, his mouth ajar and hands on Genji’s thighs, completely entranced as the rest of the club scene starts to fade, leaving him with only Genji moving beautiful and sexy on his lap and the thrill of alcohol-tinted arousal buzzing hot through his veins.

And for his part, Genji seems to be enjoying himself; has a playful smile on his face as he twists his hips, his mouth open so he can pant soft against Hanzo’s cheek, his fingertips light as they card through Hanzo’s hair. It’s perfect, too good to be true, Hanzo’s darkest and most hidden fantasy come to life--and then Genji pauses, the smile fading from his face as he meets Hanzo’s eyes, and all it takes is the brush of Genji’s fingers over the straining length between his legs for Hanzo to realize why he’s stopped.

He’s hard, his cock digging up into his little brother’s thigh.

Mortification shoots through him, and he expects Genji’s disgust--but all he’s met with is the quirking of one manicured brow, Genji’s head tipping a little and honest confusion, a faint glimmer of hope, playing over his face.

“Is…” His voice slurs, thick with the alcohol he’s had tonight, but urgent. His pretty lips are twisted down into a frown that Hanzo wants to kiss away. “Is it just my skill...or…?”

The question hangs in the air, and Hanzo stares at his little brother, searching for anything to say--and then the moment is shattered by a barking cry of laughter, and he snaps his head over to see Genji’s cluster of friends, closer than he remembers and all pointing at the two of them.

At Hanzo’s perverseness, at his shame. His blood turns to ice.

“Look at that!” Nakamura crows, his smirk mean and wide as he elbows Saitō. “That’s why Hanzo’s never interested in anything--he’s saving all his interest for his brother!”

Saitō cackles in reply, shaking his head. “It would seem the Shimada are bringing back one of their long-lost traditions, eh? Keeping the bloodline pure?”

“Yeah, purely disgusting! Look at how hard he is under the whore’s ass!”

They both break out into more laughter, and Genji can only stare dumbly at them--is this what their goal had been, all along? To get him drunk and make him humiliate Hanzo?

He looks back to his brother, his heart aching at the sight of Hanzo; at his downcast eyes that shine with unshed, bitter tears, his cheeks flushed bright red in his embarrassment and hands curled into fists atop Genji’s thighs. Genji feels like he should say something--like he should do something--but he has no idea what; and then the decision is made for him, as a broad hand grabs at his shoulder and bodily throws him to the ground.

Genji yelps and finds himself staring up into the stony face of Jesse.

“What is wrong with you?” Jesse growls, stepping over Genji’s body to go for Hanzo, instead; and to the tune of Saitō and Nakamura’s scathing laughter he gathers Hanzo up, his arm draped over Hanzo’s shoulder as they hurry to the door and slip out into the night.

Genji only manages to sit up once they’ve gone.

“What the hell?” he spits, as he staggers upright and turns on Saitō, glaring at him. “Why did you--?”

“Because it was funny,” Saitō says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like Genji should know; and his grin is malicious as he adds, “He liked you grinding up on him! Did you see his face? I’ve never seen a Shimada so embarrassed in my life!”

“Yeah,” Nakamura chuckles, taking a swig of his drink. “I hope he remembers how humiliated he was, next time he tries coming to our club.”

The two clink glasses with a cheer, and Genji stares at them, disbelieving; he shakes his head and takes a step backward, toward the door.

“I can’t believe you two,” he slurs, turning on his heel so quickly that the world spins around him. “Fuck you both!”

He storms toward the door, intent on going home, on telling Hanzo he didn’t know, he didn’t mean for any of it to happen--and he’s stopped by a fist in his hair, whipping him right back around.

“I told you guys,” Genji snarls, shoving away from the grip, “I’m not staying--!”

And his voice dies in his throat as he finds himself staring up not at Saitō, not at Nakamura, but at the perfect stranger from earlier--Hensei, maybe?--that Genji had teased and played with until he’d shot in his jeans...

Much to the amusement of his friends, and his own embarrassment.

Genji swallows thickly, and dares to look up into the man’s narrowed, angry eyes.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Hensei snarls, pulling something from his pocket; and the next thing Genji knows is a prick in his neck, the bright colors of the club blurring around him, before everything is taken away in a wash of black.


	3. Chapter 3

Jesse manages to get Hanzo all of ten yards away before he’s bent over on the side of the street, throwing up into the bushes outside a ramen shop. 

He stands on guard at Hanzo’s side, his hand rubbing small circles into Hanzo’s shoulder and feeling his muscles tense with every heave, and tries to come up with something--anything--he can say to help; but between the awkward, painful situation and the own booze in his system, the only thing he can think of is, _well, Hanzo, was it as good as you’ve always dreamed of?_

For some reason, he thinks the silence would be better. 

By the time Hanzo has emptied his stomach of all that he can, Jesse is still keeping his quiet vigil at his back; but he’s ready to catch Hanzo when he sharply tips backward, the world spinning so fast it blurs.

“Easy, Han,” Jesse murmurs, wrapping his arm snugly around Hanzo’s shoulders to help guide him down the street--eventually he manages to get them into a cab and back to Hanzo’s house, but they have to stop again only a few steps away from the stoop for Hanzo to retch the rest of his grief up into the yard.

Once he’s puked himself utterly empty, it becomes a struggle to get Hanzo inside. While in the cab riding home, he was draped over Jesse’s chest and practically clinging to him, hot tears soaking the lipstick-kissed collar of Jesse’s flannel; but as soon as they step foot inside that entirely changes. Hanzo pulls away from him like he’s been burned and staggers hurriedly down the hallway, and it’s with a resigned sigh that Jesse wearily follows after him.

“Han...what’re you doing?” he asks, reaching out for his shoulder. “You need to lay down…”

“Leave me alone,” Hanzo snaps, disappearing into the bathroom; and Jesse gets only a brief glimpse of his glaring, red-rimmed eyes before the door snaps shut. A few moments later Jesse can hear the thunk of knees hitting tile, and he sighs again, shaking his head.

These brothers are going to be the death of him.

“I’m going to get you some medicine,” he tells the closed door, and heads back down the hall to the kitchen. By the time he’s scraped together two doses of aspirin and two cups of water, Hanzo has emerged from the bathroom again, and stands in the doorway of the kitchen with his arms wrapped around his middle and eyes downcast.

Jesse frowns at him, handing over the pills and water with a soft, “Here, Han. This’ll help. You should--”

“I hate them,” Hanzo cuts in, glaring down at the pills in his hand like they’ve personally done him wrong. Even as desensitized as he is to the older Shimada’s snark, the venom in his voice still takes Jesse by surprise. “I hate all of them--spineless cowards, they’re filth, they’re trash…”

“I know, darlin’,” Jesse murmurs, tossing the aspirin back and setting his glass in the sink to tend to later. Even if he wasn’t half-drunk and felt like hammered dog shit, he’d still leave it in favour of tending to Hanzo--and when he turns back around, it’s to find Hanzo’s dark eyes bright with tears, his gaze vacant and fixed on the floor. 

“...Hanzo?” Jesse ventures, reaching out to take the glass from Hanzo’s slack hands. “You alright?”

“I…” Hanzo shakes his head, swallowing down whatever he was going to say, and turns away. His voice, when he finally speaks, is cold. “I hate them, Jesse. I want to kill them all.”

Jesse comes up behind him--he wants to hug Hanzo, to pull him close and try to comfort him, but in the interest of self-preservation he settles for resting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder and following him back to his bedroom.

“I know you do, Han,” he murmurs, squeezing at his friend’s shoulder and guiding him to sit on his bed. He drops down into a crouch in front of Hanzo, starts untying his shoes to slip them off with a soft, “But I think for now you should get some rest. Plans for slaughtering all of them can come in the morning, yeah?”

He looks up, hoping for at least the flicker of a smile; but Hanzo’s face is emotionless and flat, his eyes meeting Jesse’s own with a vacantness that tells Jesse he’s too far gone to be reached with his usual stupid humour. Disheartened and too tired to keep trying, Jesse decides that rest is the best decision for both of them. 

“Scoot over, darlin’,” he mumbles, kicking his own boots off; and as soon as he’s able he flops down onto the bed, lying down with Hanzo to his side. For a moment they both lay there, stuck in the quiet, until Jesse can hear a faint hitch in Hanzo’s breathing, the shuddering that wracks his lungs.

He rolls onto his side, and pulls Hanzo in close, relieved when instead of pushing away the other man just hugs him tight around the waist and buries his face in Jesse’s chest. 

“Shh...I got you, Han. It’ll be okay, sweetpea.” Jesse cradles the back of Hanzo’s head, lightly combing his fingers through Hanzo’s long hair, and murmurs, “Just try to get some rest, now. Everything’ll look clearer in the morning.”

Jesse manages to stay awake for another fifteen minutes--and through it all, Hanzo doesn’t cry again. He just keeps his face tucked into the warmth of Jesse’s chest and stays silent, and digs his nails into Jesse’s shoulders hard enough to draw blood until he, too, is claimed by sleep.

He tells himself he won’t dream of Genji.


	4. Chapter 4

Jesse is awoken by the sound of Hanzo’s shouting. 

“McCree!” The yell is loud enough to have him wincing, exacerbated by the throbbing headache pounding away between his eyes; but the pillow thrown into his face is uncalled for, and has Jesse groaning. 

“McCree, wake up!”

“Fuck, alright, I’m up,” Jesse grumbles, struggling to sit upright--and when he can finally convince his eyes to open, he finds himself face to face with Hanzo, his high cheeks flushed and dark eyes narrowed, angry. The sunlight is painfully bright as it spills into the window behind his head. “What--”

Hanzo’s voice cuts him off, insistent and urgent. “Have you heard from Genji?”

“...Genji?” Jesse rubs at his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain, shaking his head as the world slowly comes into focus. “No...he was still at the club when I--”

“Why?” Hanzo demands, voice cracking and distraught--and it’s enough raw emotion coming from the normally stoic Hanzo to have Jesse immediately on guard. “Why would you leave him?”

“Because I had to get your stumbling ass home,” Jesse snaps, throwing his legs out of the bed; but when he tries to stand, the world spins around him dangerously, and he finds himself sitting right back down, hard. Hanzo looms over him, and Jesse’s still too hungover to even try to block the Shimada’s rough shove at his shoulder.

“I never asked you to do that,” Hanzo snarls, and Jesse throws his hands up into the air, exasperated. 

“Do you even remember what happened last night, Hanzo? Genji--”

“He’s not home!” Hanzo roars, and Jesse recoils, startled by his outburst--but Hanzo presses on, words spilling out of him fast and frantic, more upset than Jesse can ever recall hearing him. “He didn’t come home, he didn’t message me or call me--he always comes back, always, or he tells me where he’s going, but he’s not here!”

Jesse stares at him with a few slow, blank blinks, and the longer the silences stretches on between them the more his uneasiness rises. He grabs for his phone, hoping to see a message from Genji, or a missed call, anything--and yet the screen is blank, no notifications to display, and when Jesse sees that it’s almost half past four his uneasiness turns to panic.

“Shit,” he whispers, looking up to Hanzo again. “He hasn’t talked to you--?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to stay and--”

“No!” Hanzo snaps, flinging an arm out toward the door. “Just--get out! Just get out!”

Jesse hesitates, wanting to stay and do--something, anything, to help the situation--but Hanzo is insistent, grabbing his arm and all but dragging Jesse up. He barely has time to get the rest of his clothes and his shoes on before he’s being pushed out of the way, and hobbles outside on one foot to the sound of Hanzo’s car pulling out onto the street.

Jesse can only stare at him blankly as he goes.

-x-

Jesse doesn’t know how long Hanzo stays gone.

He heads back to his own house with the squeal of Hanzo’s tires in his mind--a couple of painkillers and a hot shower later, and he can think of only one thing left to do to complete his hangover-curing ritual.

He sinks down into the comforting embrace of his bed and grabs for his laptop, pulling it into his lap and starting the boot-up process. While the screen comes to life and his lock screen loads, Jesse thinks back on the night before, how things went to hell so quickly.

He remembers the horrified look on Hanzo’s face, when he’d come to drag Genji off him--the shamed blush on his cheeks, his downcast eyes--and yet, Genji had seemed entirely unperturbed, a drunken smile stretching glossed lips smeared by sloppy kisses. Even when Jesse had pulled him off, had gotten in his face, Genji seemed confused; and whether that was due to the booze in his system or something else didn’t matter to Jesse. As soon as he saw how distressed Hanzo was, all he’d been concerned with was getting him out and taking him away from the center of mockery, making sure he got home safe--and Jesse doesn’t even want to think about what might have happened if he hadn’t done that, if he’d not noticed and left Hanzo alone there in that club, to wander out on his own.

With a sigh, Jesse pulls himself out of his thoughts, and looks to his laptop to find it’s pulled up. He taps open a new browser and hits the bookmark for his favourite porn site--a place that’s notorious for having darker videos, but also the only site where he’s found anything raunchy enough to have his hardest orgasms. With his tongue in his cheek he scrolls through the newest videos, reading each title with less and less interest: _Twink Barebacked by Hairy Daddy, Young Girl Fucks Stepsister, Busty Teen Slut Takes Massive Cock, Mature Ebony Goddess Teaches Teen_ …

But one video catches his eye, and the title-- _Young Asian Twink Abused_ \--has Jesse pausing. 

With his mouse hovering over the link, Jesse studies the thumbnail; he can’t make out much due to the size, but clicks it anyway, unease making his belly twist in knots. When the video pulls up and starts playing, he can only stare, horrified, at the blindfolded young man lying on a basement floor. He’s entirely naked, with his ankles and wrists tied together, face smeared in makeup and neck covered with hickeys.

Dirt and grime streak through his green hair.

Jesse scrabbles for his phone, and is on his feet by the time he’s dialed Hanzo’s number.


	5. Chapter 5

“Wake up, little sparrow.”

The voice is low, rumbling, and thickly accented; the sheer harshness of it is enough to pull Genji out of his sleep and back into a hazy consciousness. It takes but a few moments for him to realize the precarious nature of his awakening--that he can’t see through the cloth tied around his face, rendering him blind. That his hands and feet are tied together behind his back, holding him still, and the cold concrete he lies upon is leeching away all of the heat from his naked, aching body. He tries to remember the last twenty-four hours--tries to remember anything after showing up to the bar with Jesse and Hanzo--and finds, to his horror, that his memory is entirely blank.

He tries to move, to get some kind of bearing on his surroundings, and is met with a sharp kick to his ribs, startling a yelp from him. There’s a chuckle from above--the voice of his captor, he assumes.

“Already so eager to fly away? Where’s the fun in that, little prince?” 

“Who are you,” Genji growls, his voice made thick with his delirium, raspy on a dry throat. “What do you want?”

“My name isn’t important.” A calloused hand reaches out to touch Genji’s cheek, and he snaps at it on reflex, his teeth clicking together on empty air; that earns another laugh from his kidnapper, and only makes his ire burn. “You can call me Master, or Daddy. As for what I want, well…”

He trails off with a pleased little hum, his fingers walking down Genji’s throat, then across the smooth plane of his chest to tease at one pebbled, dusky nipple, worrying and tugging at the bud of flesh until Genji lets out a choked-sounding snarl. 

“What I want,” the man continues, letting go of Genji’s tormented nipple to instead pet down his trembling belly, “is you, little Genji. I’ve seen you prancing around the nightclubs, sleeping your way through all of Hanamura...and, acting like that, you can’t tell me you didn’t expect this outcome. I could tell from the first time I saw you, just what your acting out was saying.” He runs his fingers downward, across the muscular vee of Genji’s hips and down, further, until he can comb through the trimmed dark curls right above Genji’s soft, small cock. “You just need someone to tame you. Someone to clip your pretty little wings and put you in a cage to sing--”

“Shut up,” Genji snaps, writhing away from the man’s probing hand and baring his teeth, snarling despite how it makes his head throb with pain. “You’re fucked, you know that? You can’t keep me here. My father--”

“Do you honestly think Sojiro has nothing better to do with his time than worry about why his whore son hasn’t come home yet?” The man cackles viciously. “Don’t worry, we’re not staying here long. By the time Sojiro figures out that his sparrow has flown, we’ll be far, far away, and no one will be able to take you from me.”

He gives Genji’s hair a harsh ruffle, then reaches behind his head to untie the blindfold, and Genji’s eyes fly open just in time to see the man turn on his heel; the single lightbulb dangles overhead and makes the long, blonde ponytail laid over the shoulder of his suitjacket gleam. He waves one hand dismissively as he crosses the short distance over to the plain wooden door, and it’s only when he pauses, hand on the lightswitch, that he turns to shoot a wicked smile over his shoulder.

“I’ve heard rumours that the youngest dragon sleeps with his room lit by candles,” he murmurs, his grin only growing wider as Genji’s face starts to pale. “That the second son of the Shimada is afraid of the dark, and the monsters that lurk within it. That can’t be true, right?”

He chuckles again, his fingers tapping against the lightswitch pensively, like he’s deciding if he wants to subject Genji to that particular torment; but it seems to be only for show, because in the next moment he’s flipped the light off and thrown the tiny room into total darkness.

“I’ll be back soon, sparrow,” he murmurs, before the door opens and he disappears into the illuminated hallway, leaving Genji alone in the blackness--and Genji manages to make it all of two minutes before he’s writhing anew, trying to get his bound body over to the door and the light, the escape, it promises.

His fear of the dark isn’t an irrational thing--he’s not senselessly afraid, like some infant--but it’s more a progression of memories, a series of events during his childhood that left a lasting scar, a personal guard that was entirely too touchy and manipulative for a seven year old Genji to handle or escape from. By the time anyone noticed the bruises and the bleeding and removed the guard from Genji’s quarters, the damage was done; and never again did Genji ever feel comfortable alone in the dark.

He tries not to think about it, as he squirms on the cold, hard floor; tries to ignore the ghostly hands that claw over his bare body, taking and hurting and leaving only tainted flesh in their wake; the nails that dig in and mark and score, the fingers that pry and probe and pinch, violating him in any way they see fit, all under the concealing shroud of darkness.

He swore--his family promised--that it would never happen again. 

And yet here he is.

Genji shuffles backward until he’s tucked up against the corner of the room and closes his eyes, and tells himself he’s gone; in his mind he is flying, a green dragon cutting across a cloudless blue sky, and he is miles above the earth and prying hands and no one can touch him.


	6. Chapter 6

Hanzo has trained for years in the delicate art of interrogation, but by the time he’s been to the house of every one of Genji’s clubbing friends and gotten zero answers, he’s thrown all his tactics out the window; and while his most intimidating stance and his growled threats have managed to scare the piss out of his brother’s friends--literally, in some cases--they haven’t led to any kind of breakthrough.

That only comes when he answers his phone to Jesse’s breathless voice.

_“Han--Han! I found him! I found him, he’s at the old warehouse by the arcade, you gotta get down here--”_

And Hanzo doesn’t waste time with answering. He’s out of the house and in his car, tires squealing on the pavement, before Jesse even realizes he’s hung up.

During the drive his mind races faster than the car--imagining what state he’ll find Genji in, if he’s injured, if it’s worse. Berating himself for letting this happen, for leaving Genji alone when he knew what pieces of shit his ‘friends’ are. Trying to figure out what he’ll do if the worst has come true, if he’s too late, if Genji’s already gone.

The thought is more than heartbreaking--it’s enough to have Hanzo stepping on the gas, tearing through the streets with no regard for any other traffic and reaching the warehouse in record time. He’s diving out of the car as soon as it’s parked, slamming the door in his haste to get over to where Jesse stands by the door, pacing with his lip caught between his teeth.

“Where is he?” Hanzo asks, trying to push past Jesse and peer over his shoulder, his voice rising in pitch and desperation. “Where--move, goddamn you, I have to see him!”

“Han, just--wait a sec!” Jesse grabs his shoulders and forcibly marches him backward a step or two, something intense and worried in his gaze as he meets Hanzo’s eyes. “He’s...he’s alive. Ain’t hurt too bad, far as I can tell…” He draws in a heavy breath. “But he’s in a real bad place. You gotta be easy with him right now, okay? Please. He needs it.”

“I am his brother,” Hanzo snarls, shouldering his way out of the grasp. “I know what he needs.”

_And it’s never been me._

Still, Hanzo goes into the warehouse, looking around the large, vacant space for any sign of Genji--and instead, he finds a tiny freestanding closet in the back corner of the building, with its door halfway open and light spilling out from inside.

“Genji,” Hanzo breathes, and rushes over. 

He runs toward the closet and skids to a stop when he reaches the open door, Jesse’s words ringing out in his head; and when he pushes the door open with a soft, cautious, “Genji…?” he isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting to find.

But what he does see makes his heart break in his chest. 

Genji is sitting in the corner of the dimly-lit room, entirely naked, hugging his knees to his chest with his head bowed. He makes no move at the call of his name--like he’d not even heard Hanzo speak--and it’s his silence, the way the muscles of his broad shoulders tremble, that tells Hanzo just how badly off his brother is.

“Genji,” he repeats, his voice soft but urgent; he rushes over and drops down to a crouch in front of his brother, carefully putting his hands on Genji’s calves. “Genji, otouto...look at me, sparrow--”

Genji chokes at the nickname, snapping his head up. His face is a mess--streaked with blood and spit and snot, his makeup smeared and running--and the bruises along his cheeks and jaw stand out starkly against his pale skin. His tongue darts out to run over his bottom lip, licking the blood away from the busted-open wound there. His eyes are glassy, dazed; scared, as Hanzo reaches for him, and he flinches when Hanzo’s palm comes to rest gently on the curve of his battered cheek. 

“Otouto,” Hanzo whispers, in the voice he used to use when Genji was a child, when he would come running to Hanzo’s room in the middle of the night crying about some storm or nightmare. He sees Genji’s lashes tremble, before his eyes slowly close. “That’s it, sweet thing...I’ve got you, little one. I’ve got you now.”

Hanzo moves his hand to try to coax Genji into an embrace, but his brother beats him to it--Genji all but dives forward, throwing his arms around Hanzo’s neck and hugging him tightly, hiding his face in the strong curve of Hanzo’s shoulder. 

“I’m sorry,” he hiccups, his voice choked and ragged, hoarse from screaming. “S-so sorry--anija…”

“Shhh.” Hanzo cradles Genji close, wrapping one arm around his chest and securing Genji’s head with the other, long fingers gently petting through his messy hair. “You don’t need to apologize, sweet thing. You did nothing--”

“I did,” Genji sobs, his head bowed, tremors returning to his battered body. “I-I was stupid--I didn’t listen to you, anija, I’m sorry--I’m so sorry, I should have just stayed with you, I love you…”

“Otouto,” Hanzo sighs, pressing a kiss to Genji’s hair and squeezing him just a bit tighter. “It’s okay, I promise. I have you now, and I love you, too.” He pauses, tipping Genji’s head up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. “I love you. Always.”

He holds Genji’s gaze as he nods, slowly, and curls over him protectively as Genji huddles back into his chest with a grateful noise. Once he’s settled, Hanzo looks around for Jesse, and mouths a quick command at him--and when Jesse comes back with the blanket he retrieved from Hanzo’s car, Hanzo takes it with a grateful look, then sits up a little.

“Here, little thing,” he murmurs, disentangling himself despite the way Genji fitfully squirms and tries to cling to him. “Genji--look, sparrow, let me help you…”

Genji whimpers in reply and it’s enough to make Hanzo’s voice crack, to have it dying in his throat. He wraps the microfleece blanket tightly around Genji’s body, and no sooner has he tucked the edges in than Genji is crowding right back into his grasp, tucking himself up against Hanzo’s chest like his life depends on it.

And in that moment, Hanzo supposes, it just might.


End file.
